


Open Highways Lead to Closed Lives

by afrocurl



Category: Friday Night Lights, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:05:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam tries to pick up without someone and finds himself in Dillon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Highways Lead to Closed Lives

“Honey, can you watch Gracie this afternoon? I have to interview this new English teacher,” Tami called from the kitchen.

“Sure,” Eric replied back, before emerging from the bedroom dressed for work. “There’s only baseball game I have to stop and see before I can be home.”

She brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thanks,” she breathed, before she started yelling at Julie to hurry up and get in the car.

-*-

He can’t get used to the feeling of being the only one to drive _this_ car. It’s not his—it never will be—but he can’t part with the last reminder of _him_.

The street signs blend into each other, as the highway morphed from the wide expanse of flat West Texas toward the signs of life—the town of Dillon.

Dread rumbled in his stomach as he pulled off the highway and into the small town. _This is your chance to start over, Sam. Pull it together and get through this interview._

-*-

“So, Mr. Winchester, what makes you the best candidate for this position?” Tami asked, as she looked him over.

He fumbled with the sleeve of his jacket while trying to think of a good response. “Well,” he started out, “I’ve been committed to helping people out for the last three years, but I wanted to take a different direction from my last job.” He bit his lip hoping that this woman wouldn’t push the question of that job.

“Sounds fair, Sam. I may call you Sam, yes?” she asked, shifting in her chair.

“’Course, ma’am,” he replied.

“Call me Tami.”

“Yes, Tami, you may call me Sam.”

She looked down at his application for a moment, trying to figure out what else she needed to ask.

“I see that you have some very nice letters from your professors at Stanford. I’ll be sure to put in a good word with you with the principal, and we’ll get back to you at the end of the week.”

“Thanks,” he said sheepishly. “I’ll be in town at the motel near the Applebee’s, if you need me.”

“Oh sure, Sam. We’ll have you over to dinner one night. You can meet some of the kids you might see next year.”

“That’d,” he paused, “that’d be nice, Tami. Thanks.”

He waited a second, watching as she put the file back on her desk and turned to her computer. He quietly left the room—the desperate need for fresh air taking over.

Slow, steady steps to the Impala are the only things keeping Sam from erupting. He never thought it would be this hard to move on—from _him_ and from everything else that they’d done together in the last three years.

The memories of Dean floated his brain—the day he showed up at Stanford, the day that the Impala crashed when the Yellow-Eyed Demon (or one of his many minions) tried to kill them all, the day everything changed when Sam couldn’t force himself to be anointed “The Boy King” to save him.

Kicking one of the tires was all Sam could manage to do before he entered the car—trying to steady his thoughts—before he drove out of the parking lot.

-*-

“How’d that interview go today?” Eric asked while bouncing Gracie on his knee in front of the television.

“Good—he seemed nice.”

“Nice—is that all? I would have expected more from you?”

“Thanks, honey, but it was only fifteen minutes. He’s in town for the week while we decide. I invited him for dinner one night.”

“That’s awful nice of you. Especially when you didn’t consult your husband first,” he said with some indignation.

“You know what, Eric, I figured you’d like to meet him. In case he gets the job, you can put the fear of G-d into him now before he does anything like Barnett did.”

Eric pondered that thought, still bouncing Gracie. “Point well taken. We’ll have him over on Thursday.”

-*-

The chirp of Sam’s cell played off the thin walls of his hotel room.

“Hello?” he asked, after looking down at the unfamiliar number.

“Hi, Sam. This is Tami Taylor from Dillon High School. I just calling to invite you to dinner at my house on Thursday,” she said quickly.

“Oh, hi, Tami,” Sam responded, the unknown tension easing out of his body at the familiar name on the other end. “That sounds nice.”

“Wonderful. Dinner’s at seven, and it’ll just be the family, one of the football players, and yourself.

“Sounds great. I’ll call the school on Thursday for directions. See you then.” He ended the call, still trying to process the quick conversation.

He, Sam Winchester, was going to have dinner with a couple, their children, and a football player.

There wasn’t enough beer in Dillon, he imagined, that would help get over this invitation. He hadn’t really been around people, since…since, May. He’d tried to keep to himself, getting by with himself, but if this is how the town treated him as a potential employee, he wasn’t sure if it was the right place for him after all.

-*-

The Impala looked so out of place in front of the Taylor home. This time he wasn’t there on a hunt, trying to find out what demon had invaded this time—he was there for a quiet meal.

His palms were sweaty, but they refused to dry against the khaki of his pant legs. He tried to calm himself down before knocking on the door, but his plan was thwarted when a boy with greasy hair in front of his face opened the door.

“Umm, hi, I’m Sam Winchester. I’m here for dinner with the Taylors.”

“Oh, hey, man. Come on in. Name’s Riggins, and I’ll be right back.” The door opened wider so that the other boy could walk out. “Julie—the teacher’s here! I gotta run to see Landry about something.”

“Thanks,” Sam said quickly, before Riggins bounded off the small porch and towards a pick-up truck. He walked through the foyer, trying to find someone else at home.

Seated on the couch was a girl—Tami said something about a daughter at the high school—watching the news.

Trying not to be awkward, Sam coughed to get her attention.

She looked up at him before speaking. “Hi, I’m Julie. Nice to meet you.”

“Winchester,” Sam replied. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Sure,” she said quickly, before returning her attention back on the news.

“You’re mom told me you write for the paper. I hope you keep that up next year if I’m working on it,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light.

“I might. Mom’s been all over me about extra-curriculars since…the last guy,” she said flatly.

Sam knew better than to touch that subject before dinner. “Well, I hope you keep it up next year.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” came her dismissive reply.

“Julie Taylor! You will be nicer to our guest today!” Tami's voiced boomed from a hallway.

“Sure, Mom.”

“Sam, don’t worry about her,” Tami said. “Sorry I’m a bit late. Can I get you something to drink before dinner?”

“Just some water is fine.”

Tami walked into the kitchen, checking on the oven before grabbing a glass from a cupboard. As she was filling the glass with water from the refrigerator, another man walked in from the front door.

“Sorry I’m late, honey. The game went into extra innings and that damn Director from Arnett Meade was there, too.”

“’S’ok, honey. Sam just got her, and the roast is almost done.”

Eric walked further into the house while Sam sat up from the couch.

“Nice to meet you Sam,” Eric said while giving a firm handshake.

“Same to you, Coach. I hear nothing but good things about you around town.”

“That’s only because he’s better than the last guy,” Julie snidely commented.

“Zip it, young lady. Not in front of company,” her father chided.

Sam felt that awkward feeling building up in his chest again. _The need to escape._

“Sorry, Sam. Here’s your water,” Tami said.

“Thanks.” He gulped it quickly, trying to keep himself from losing it in front of the Taylors.

He waited for another few minutes before the feeling left, but the lingering doubt about this job was firmly planted in his mind.


End file.
